Nature, the gentlest mother
NATURE, the gentlest mother,
In forest and the hill
How fair her conversation,
Her voice among the aisles
When all the children sleep
With infinite affection
Emily Dickinson
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest,—
Her admonition mild
By traveller is heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.
A summer afternoon,—
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky,
And infiniter care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Nature, the gentlest mother by Emily Dickinson
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